


In My Blood/Run Away

by IllgrabmylIght



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Separation Anxiety, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, and he gets one, bucky goes on a mission, specifically Steve's separation anxiety, steve stays home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IllgrabmylIght/pseuds/IllgrabmylIght
Summary: Bucky goes on a mission. Steve stays home and has a trip down memory lane. A very, very painful trip, landing-face-first-on-the-asphalt trip.Based on In My Blood by Shawn Mendes and Run Away by Ben Platt, because why not?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	In My Blood/Run Away

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how to write a Marvel fanfiction but I've been in an angsty/fluffy Stucky mood for a week so bear with me :)

One last hug, one last lingering gaze, and one last brilliant smirk that Steve wasn't sure if Bucky remembered being _Bucky_ or if it was just _him_ but still sent Fourth of July fireworks off in his belly, and then Bucky was gone.

Steve wasn't sure what to do with himself.

To be fair, though, he never did after he was thawed out, so the empty feeling spreading from his chest to his stomach to the palms of his hands was nothing new and couldn't be pinned on his attachment to Bucky

—it could, actually, and if he was being psycho-analyzed, it probably _would_ , and really, who would Steve be to lie, because deep down even he knew that it was, in part, because Bucky was gone, again—

unless one squinted. Really squinted.

He blinked at the door handle for six minutes too long before shaking himself out.

He should shower.

Or he could draw, but he knew the image that would smirk back at him from the page before even considering the idea further.

TV? He'd finally gotten used to having one of those of his own, though not necessarily the size and quality of it.

None of these ideas really spoke to him, but he could feel himself constantly moving, fidgeting, shuffling, and an unsatisfied itch began to build up until he couldn't take it.

He tugged off the t-shirt and underwear he'd worn to bed last night—and, by extension, the sweats he'd put on this morning, because Steve still wasn't sure how Bucky would feel about him walking around in just a shirt and underwear—and slid into a clean shirt, clean underwear, and the sweats he'd been wearing for all of forty minutes.

He'd only been awake for forty minutes, which meant Bucky had been gone for ten, which meant Steve had survived ten minutes without Bucky.

(Last time he only lasted eight before he had a breakdown on the living room floor. It was the biggest room in their apartment and it made him feel small again, especially when he was sobbing and gripping his hair and his shirt and a pillow that hit the floor with him and really anything he could squeeze to get the _thoughts_ out, the fear and anguish and guilt and, well, _trauma_. When Steve was small, Bucky was almost always there, with his smirks and chuckles and ginger touches, but when he wasn't, that was okay, too. So feeling small made him feel _okay_ , even though when he was small he was _never_ okay, really.)

He could do this.

He slipped on socks and the tennis shoes he'd had since a month or so after he was thawed out (these days, shoes lasted longer), grabbed the key to the house, his wallet, and his phone, and left.

Steve ran for an hour or so before he needed water.

He passed so many different people, each of them different, none of them Bucky ( _or_ , he thought as a guilty afterthought, _Natasha or Sam or Tony or Clint_ ). He wondered about their lives momentarily before moving on to the next, trying to distract himself. He knew what he was doing, of course, but it didn't help any less.

The panic only set in once he lost track of time.

How long had it been since he saw Bucky? Over an hour, he knew, but how much longer? Two hours? Three? That was long enough for something to go wrong. Steve hadn't been briefed on the mission since he wasn't going, just as a safety precaution, and so anything could be happening right now. Bucky could be in a compromised vehicle, or ship, or _plane_.

Steve had to get home.

He turned on his heel and began sprinting back to the apartment, measuring and leveling his breaths before counting them, one, two three fourfivesix _breathe_ seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven...

He was at three hundred thirty-four when he barreled into the apartment. He slammed the door behind himself. Dropped the key, the water bottle, his wallet, and his phone on the coffee table. Collapsed onto the couch. Gripped his hair and took sharp, heavy gasps of air. "B-Buck- _Bucky_ ," he heaved, tears stinging their way out of his squeezed eyelids. His hands shuddered in his hair, and each breath shocked his lungs, reminding him painfully of an asthma attack and _Bucky_ , rubbing his back and mumbling gentle words right next to his ear and _god he could be anywhere, HYDRA could've gotten him again, he could be gone, he could be-_

Dead.

Steve practically watched it happen again and again behind his eyelids; Bucky's fingertips, icy-cold, brushing against him one last time. Watched him fall to the white depths below. Watch his face mold into an expression of absolute horror. Heard his own scream, felt it tear out of his throat.

How long did Bucky say the mission should take? He said something about tonight. Would he be back tonight, or would he not?

Steve couldn't remember that one thing, that one sentence Bucky said out of all the others (and he remembered all the others; almost every single one, if he tried hard enough).

Steve took another breath and tried to remember the softer things.

_"Buck?" Steve called upon waking up. It was early and cold—November or December—and he'd just woken up._

_"I'm here, Stevie," Bucky mumbled in that voice of his, the one that always croaked in such a handsome way when he woke up. His hand brushed Steve's neck as he peeled an eye open and smiled. His thumb drew circles on Steve's jaw. Steve's heart jumped. "I'm right here, darlin'."  
_

_Steve curled against Bucky, his tiny body nearly shivering both from the cold and the delight of having Bucky._

_Bucky felt his shudders and pressed his lips to Steve's forehead. "You're warm," he breathed, and it fanned across Steve's face._

_He shook his head. "'m freezin', really. 'n your breath smells."_

_"It's called morning breath, punk. It ain't me."_

_"It is, too! It's_ your _breath!"_

_"I don't wanna hear it, shut up and let me keep y'warm so you can go back to sleep."_

_Steve grinned, perfectly happy to do just that. Before he did, though, he slid his hands into Bucky's shirt and pressed them against his stomach._

_He felt the muscles jump beneath his knobbly fingers as Bucky cursed. "Get your cold fingers offa me!" he snapped, grabbing Steve's elbow's gently and lifting his arms out of his shirt. He almost hesitated before sliding his hands up and holding Steve's between his own. "I ain't letting you try that again. Sleep."_

_Steve hummed, stuffing his face into Bucky's neck, pushing his stomach against Bucky's to try to warm him back up, and tangling their legs together just because._

_"Comf'table?" Bucky asked sarcastically, but Steve could feel his face heating even more against Bucky's neck, and he could almost picture the blush blooming against his neck and cheeks and ears._

_Steve kissed his neck just to bother him further. "Yeah," he whispered. "'m great."_

_There was a pause. "Yeah? Me too."_

_Steve smiled. "Sleep, remember?"_

_Bucky tensed for just a moment, then relaxed again. "Yeah."_

Steve opened his eyes slowly. At one point, he'd laid down, wrapped himself around the pillow, and fallen asleep.

He swallowed nervously, almost not wanting to test it, but there was no light coming in through the windows anymore, and maybe Bucky had said he was coming home tonight after all. "Buck?"

"I'm here, Stevie," Bucky called from somewhere in the apartment. Steve heard the footsteps after he let out a weak sob. Bucky was there within a moment, crouched in front of him and reaching for his face with his flesh hand. "I'm right here. What's wrong?"

Steve pushed past the pillow and slid onto Bucky, curling around him instead as he cried. "I didn't think you'd make it back. I- I- I-"

"Shh, I'm right here, Stevie," Bucky whispered, holding onto Steve's weight with ease. "I won't run away."

"I- I know," Steve let out weakly. "I- I thought- I thought HYDRA got you, or- or- or you- you..." he trailed off, burrowing his face in Bucky's neck.

Bucky's metal arm went stiff at the mention of HYRDA, but it relaxed when Steve trailed off and instead began carding through his hair. "Oh Stevie," he breathed. "I'm right here. I'm okay. Are- are you? You're not hurt or anything, right?"

Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. Bucky rubbed away his tears with both hands, and Steve held the metal one against his cheek for a moment. His skin warmed the metal, and he blinked his eyes open when he removed his hand but Bucky didn't. Bucky was staring at him, his eyes wide and calculating.

"It's okay. It's you. You're not going to hurt me, right?"

Bucky shook his head fervently. "You know I wouldn't."

Steve smiled. "I know, just wanted to make sure you did, too." He turned his head toward Bucky's hand and pressed a kiss to it, his lips leaving a mark on the metal that slowly faded. He glanced at Bucky, and he was blushing. Steve blinked. So that's what he'd missed that night.

What he could've missed forever.

"You're alive," Steve puffed, almost just realizing. He cupped Bucky's face in his hands before they slid around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "Please don't leave."

"I won't," Bucky promised. "I love you."

Steve froze, staring at nothing, before tears blurred whatever he was looking at. "I love you, too. Really."

"Don't make it sound like a competition," Bucky scolded playfully, pulling away. His hands slid from Steve's back, across his shoulders, and up his neck before settling on his cheeks, the reverse of what Steve had done. His expression softened when he noticed the glaze over Steve's eyes. "We both know I'd win, anyways," he whispered, almost as if to himself. Lost in the thought of how much he loved Steve as he stared at his face and oh.

 _Oh_.

Steve glanced between Bucky's lips and his eyes. "I doubt that," Steve told him. "I'm in the same boat you're in, Buck."

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "I don't think you are."

Steve looked up at his eyes again to narrow his own at him. "I think I _am_ ," he insisted rather pointedly.

Bucky gazed at him before shaking his head slightly, as if shaking away a fly. "What boat do you think I'm in, Steve?"

"Is this show or tell?"

Bucky blinked. A blush crawled across his cheeks before he shook his head again. Come _on_ , Bucky. "Whatever you want, but I don't know how you think you can show-"

Steve leaned forward, slow enough for Bucky to have time to realize and to back away if he wanted but fast enough to shut him up.

Their lips met, and Steve felt those Fourth of July fireworks shoot off in his belly harder than they have in a _long_ time. He kissed Bucky smoothly and softly, and after a stunned moment, Bucky kissed him right back.

Steve smiled into it and had to pull away, leaning against Bucky's forehead to keep contact as he breathed—he gasping for air, but before he'd kissed Bucky he'd forgotten to breathe and now he was all out.

"I- I think I remember this," Bucky whispered. "Or something like this. When you were little."

Steve's smile only grew, if it could. "Yeah, we used to be close. Never like this, though," Steve said, kissing Bucky again to show what he meant. "We were too scared to go that far, what with my asthma and being sick all the time and, well, it was the 30's. Queer people hadn't even had their chance at revolution in the US yet. We were reasonably scared of that, too, or at least you were. I probably would've broken my fist against anyone who would've said we were wrong, and you knew that and that was probably why you were scared; didn't want me actually getting killed just for loving you. So we didn't go as far as to kiss, even behind _locked_ doors. But we were together, at least. More than best friends but less than boyfriends. Best friends with benefits, if you will."

"Fuckin' stupid," Bucky muttered, kissing the corner of Steve's mouth as it pulled into another grin. "Shouldn't've been worried." Another kiss on the other corner. "We lived alone, right?"

Steve nodded, running his hands through Bucky's hair.

"Should've just devoured you in there. You would've been fine, you got beat up every damn day, just about, 'n nothin' I would've- hell, _could've_ done, knowing how my body reacted to the idea of hurting you." He kissed Steve's chin and his jaw. "Shouldn't've waited. But," he paused, leaning back. "I've got you now, yeah?"

Steve wanted to burst. "Yeah," he agreed, nodding. Excitement radiated through his body, and the anxiety from before had all but vanished.

Bucky grinned. "Good." A glint lit up his eyes. "Can make up for lost time."

"What time is it?" Steve asked, near giddy.

"Nine."

"You've got all night, then."

"And the next," Bucky reminded him. "All night, all of tomorrow, and all day the day after that, too. 'til the end of the line."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Again, I cannot, for the life of me, write coherent Marvel fanfiction, so hopefully you enjoyed this mess!


End file.
